


Early to Bed and Early to Rise

by Fool of a Book Wyrm (Lafeli85)



Series: Carry On Spark [2]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Canon, Boys In Love, Caretaking, Carry On Sparks (Simon Snow), Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Fever Dreams, Gentle Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Ghost Lucy Salisbury, Idiots in Love, Lucy Salisbury Lives, M/M, Mutual Pining, Night Terrors, Oblivious Simon Snow, POV Simon Snow, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Pining, Prompt Fic, Sharing a Bed, Sick Character, Sick Simon Snow, Soft Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Soft Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow, Truce, Tumblr: Writing-prompt-s, Watching Someone Sleep, Watford Eighth Year, but not really, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:15:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24615133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lafeli85/pseuds/Fool%20of%20a%20Book%20Wyrm
Summary: 8th year at Watford has begun, and Baz is nowhere to be found. For eight weeks, Simon spends every night searching for Baz. Even in the cold November rain.When Baz finally returns, Simon is so sick that he doesn't have the energy to even get out of bed.Through a series of fever dreams, Simon is visited by the spirit of his mother. Will Baz and Simon be able to work together to discover the answers of Simon's parentage and the identity of Baz's mother's killer?~*~*~*~*This fanfic is based on the Carry On Sparks prompt(s) of the week. Each week, the chapters will be shaped using the prompt of the week.
Relationships: Penelope Bunce & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Carry On Spark [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1758406
Comments: 31
Kudos: 79





	1. Watch

**Author's Note:**

> **Please note, the title of this fic has changed. Originally titled _Watch Me When I'm on my Own_ , I realized the title would no longer fit this fic once I started adding chapters.**

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I climb under my blanket, shivering. Curling into a ball, I continue shaking until my muscles ache. I’ve never felt like this before– cold and aching to my very core. 
> 
> I look over at Baz’s bed again. It’s hard to see in the dark, but I stare anyway. I’m used to staring at his bed in the dark, but usually he’s in it. I should be able to make out the vague shape of his body buried under too many blankets. 
> 
> I get up and pace over to his bed, taking up the comforter from his bed and dragging it back over to my own. I settle back into my bed, with the extra blanket. It doesn’t do much more to help me stop shivering, but somehow it vaguely still smells of cedar and bergamot. 
> 
> I fall asleep to thoughts of Baz being trapped somewhere. Somewhere cold and lonely. His black hair uncharacteristically tangled, eyes grey and murky. 
> 
> He’s somewhere even his mum’s ghost couldn’t find him. 
> 
> I need to find him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [Sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire) for being my constant beta, cheerleader, and friend. And also for transferring my Amazon Snowbaz playlist to [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7aEniDjN9vgQDLGNnNneG6?si=_ZDBiXjTS2WVH0CWeqTWWQ) so I can share it with you all.

**Simon**

Of course it’s raining. Again. 

I don’t know why I’m up on the ramparts. After curfew. In the rain. 

Except I do know, really. Classes started exactly eight weeks ago today. Eight weeks for Baz to plot my downfall. I know he’s out there, somewhere. I’d know if something had happened to him. The whole world would know if something had happened to the Pitch’s last remaining heir. 

I’ve been patrolling relentlessly these last weeks, looking for him. I don’t know why I keep looking on the school grounds. I’d have found him by now if he was here. He’s not one to hide away, anyway. If he was plotting my downfall, he’d make sure it was grand and for all to see. He’s always sworn that, to make sure he had an audience when he finally did it. 

It’s late now, nearing midnight and I still have homework to finish for tomorrow. Despite not being sent on any missions at all this year, I’m still falling behind in my studies. Even more than most years. 

I need to figure out what Baz is up to. My grades won’t matter if he manages to finally kill me because I was too busy studying and not trying to uncover his plot. 

I trudge back to our room. I still think of it as ours, Baz’s and mine, even though the first term is halfway over and he still hasn’t bothered to show up. It has been our room since we were eleven, and it will remain that way until we graduate at the end of the year. _If_ we’re alive at the end of the year. 

I call on my sword as I’m treading up the stairs of the tower, pricking my finger as I near the top to let myself into the room. It’s easier for me to use blood magic than a spell. My blood and my sword are the only things that I don’t have to worry about working. My magic is another matter completely.

I collapse back against the door as soon as I’m through, frozen, soaked to the bone, and absolutely exhausted. I glance over at his bed, still perfectly made but missing all of the comforters he brings from home every year. 

Usually, the entire room smells of him— cedar, bergamot, and something distinctly _Baz_ that I’ve never been able to identify. But now the room smells off, missing the notes that make the room as much his as it does mine. 

I sigh and make my way for the en suite, grabbing my school-issued flannel pyjamas on my way. I discard my wet uniform into the hamper with a moist thud and let the shower water run hot. I usually keep the shower water running lukewarm, it feels good on my usually too-hot skin, but I just can’t seem to get warm tonight. I’ve been making my rounds about the grounds the past couple of nights in the cold and unusually wet weather. 

I brace my hand against the wall of the shower as a full-body shiver wracks me from head to toe. I turn the knob to make the water even hotter before I realize the water is already as hot as it will allow. 

I finish washing up and get out quickly, dressing in my flannel pyjamas before crossing the room to stand beside my bed. I reach up to the window, let my hand sit on the sill a moment before closing it.

 _Wouldn’t Baz just love that?_ It’s the first time I’ve voluntarily closed the window in eight years, and he’s not even here to gloat about it. 

I climb under my blanket, shivering. Curling into a ball, I continue shaking until my muscles ache. I’ve never felt like this before– cold and aching to my very core. 

I look over at Baz’s bed again. It’s hard to see in the dark, but I stare anyway. I’m used to staring at his bed in the dark, but usually he’s in it. I should be able to make out the vague shape of his body buried under too many blankets. 

I get up and pace over to his bed, taking up the comforter from his bed and dragging it back over to my own. I settle back into my bed, with the extra blanket. It doesn’t do much more to help me stop shivering, but somehow it vaguely still smells of cedar and bergamot. 

I fall asleep to thoughts of Baz being trapped somewhere. Somewhere cold and lonely. His black hair uncharacteristically tangled, eyes grey and murky. 

He’s somewhere even his mum’s ghost couldn’t find him. 

I need to find him.

~*~*~*~*~

I wake to the feeling of a hand on my forehead. It feels soothing and smells of sage. 

Penny. 

I know it’s her without even needing to open my eyes. 

“What’re you?” My whole body feels heavy, and my body has gone from shivering to feeling like an inferno. I crack an eye open to daylight streaming in through the window. I’ve overslept. I’m not sure how late it is, but Penny is here which probably means I missed breakfast and she was worried. 

“Simon! You’re burning up!” She sounds worried, but right now I don’t have it in me to put too much thought into it. 

_**“Get well soon!”**_ I hear her cast as a wave of sage hits me. She knows as well as I do that magic won’t cure common illness, but she’s Penny so she’s tried anyway. 

“Penny, stop trying to spell me. I’m just not feeling well, I’ll be fine.” She knows I hate being spelled anyway, especially without permission. She just worries too much. 

“Sorry, Si. But you’re really burning up, and you slept through breakfast.” She turns and walks toward the en suite, returning a few moments later with a damp washcloth that she lays across my forehead. It feels so good against my burning skin.

“I want you to rest, I’ll collect your notes and homework for the morning’s classes. I’ll come back to check on you before lunch.” She gives me a forced smile, trying to make me feel better. 

“Pen, before you go,” I glance over at Baz’s bed, which I stripped last night to borrow the blanket. “Can you put Baz’s blanket back on his bed for me and make it? I–” I don’t want to tell her that I don’t want to risk Baz coming back to find that I touched his bed. Because he will be back. He has to.

She knowingly takes the discarded blanket from the floor and lays it back on his bed. **_“As you were!”_** She casts, as the bed makes itself. 

“I’ll be back in a couple hours. Get some rest.” She presses a kiss to the top of my head before leaving me alone in my room. 

~*~*~*~*~*

I wake again to Penny. This time she’s gently rubbing my arm. 

“Simon? Do you think you can make it down to the dining hall for lunch?” Her voice is gentle but concerned. Like what I imagine her mother’s might be when Penny or one of her siblings are sick. 

I haven’t eaten since supper last night, so I could eat. 

“I’m starving, actually. So I need to go down. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to stay though.” I still feel exhausted and shaky. Like all of the energy has been siphoned out of me. I vaguely wonder if this is what it feels like for a mage to use up their magic. 

Down in the dining hall Penny makes me sit at our usual table with a pot of tea, and hastily goes to get me soup and a couple of scones. 

I’ve only just started in on my soup when the doors fly open. 

I recognize the figure walking through the door immediately. Tall. Black hair swept back from his forehead. Lips curled back in a sneer… I know that face as well as my own. 

Baz. 

I try to stand, a bit too quickly. But I’m still weak with fever, and nearly collapse on Penny. She steadies me with a hand on my elbow. 

“Honestly, Simon,” she’s griping. I don’t think she’s even bothered to look at who was coming through the hall. 

He’s walking slower than normal and looks abnormally pale. Even for Baz, who is always pale on account that he’s a vampire. I feel a pang in my chest that doesn’t make much sense. I shouldn’t be worried about Baz, I need to find out where he’s been. 

“Pen–” I try to stand up again, but she’s tugging on my sleeve to keep me down. Normally I would be able to shake her off, but I’m too weak at the moment to put in much of an effort. 

She’s finally looking over to where Baz has just sat down with his friends. “Is that–” she trails off, clearly stunned by his sudden appearance but not as invested in finding answers for his absence as I am. 

“Eat, Simon,” she commands. I know she’s right, I need to eat and get back up to my room to sleep this off. My body is already starting to feel sluggish and heavy again, a chill running through my bones after Baz’s grand entrance let in a cold November breeze. 

I finish what food I can, and allow Penny to lead me back up to my room. Once she finally gets me back into my bed she casts _**“Cold hands, warm heart!”**_ to help keep me warm while she goes to classes. The spell only works to keep a person warm if they have a warm and caring heart, which I suppose I do. She leaves, promising to be back to get me for dinner. I try to protest, now that Baz is back she can’t be seen coming up here. He’d turn her in, getting her expelled. But she doesn’t listen to me, and apparently has no fear of Baz. Says he wouldn’t dare try to have her expelled, because it would taint his reputation of earning top marks fairly without her for competition. 

I settle into my pillows, pulling my blankets up to my chin. Baz’s trunk is at the end of his bed, where it belongs, and the room is already beginning to smell of him. It feels right. I close my eyes, trying to calm my mind. Cedar and bergamot fill my senses, and I feel eerily calm knowing that Baz is back. He looked rough despite his always elegant appearance, but he’s finally here where I can keep an eye on him.


	2. Plot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the last class of the day, I’m walking across the courtyard as fast as I dare without raising suspicion. I need to know if Simon is in our room, or if he’s incapacitated somewhere on the grounds. 
> 
> I’m suddenly jerked back with a violent tug at my arm. I spin around, ready to spell the culprit with a **Stand your ground!** Bunce stands before me, hands raised up in a symbol of truce. 
> 
> “Basil! I’ve been calling your name all the way across the grounds!” She looks exasperated, “can I talk to you a minute?” 
> 
> “Make it quick, Bunce, I have quite a bit of work to catch up on.” I can’t let her of all people know that I’m anxious to check on Snow.
> 
> “It’s about Simon,” she begins. This catches my attention, but I manage to retain a neutral expression on my face. “He’s quite ill. I’m going up to your room to check in on him. Can you please just not give him a hard time when you get up there?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to [Sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire) for being my beta and the first person to read all of my nonsense. 
> 
> Extra thank you to [BazzyBelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BazzyBelle/pseuds/BazzyBelle) for giving the chapter an extra look over before posting.
> 
> **Please note, this work was originally titled _Watch Me When I'm on my Own_ , however I realized after posting this chapter that the original title would not fit as I continue adding prompt chapters. Sorry for any confusion with this change!**

**Baz**

This is not how I imagined the start of my final year at Watford would go. Eight weeks of lessons already gone– not that I am worried about falling behind. I’m sure I can still out-conjugate everyone in Greek and Latin. 

I pace across the dining hall, slow and deliberate steps to mask my limp. My leg is throbbing and I’m ravenous. 

I walk straight to the serving table to make myself a plate before heading over to my regular seat where Dev is already pouring me a cup of tea. 

“Baz,” Dev says, smirking. 

“Gentlemen,” I say, “what have I missed?”

“About eight weeks, man,” Niall says with a straight face. If these two have learned anything from me over the years, it’s how to keep cool composure even under the most extraordinary circumstances. I’m not entirely sure how much they told other students about my absence, but drawing attention to it is certainly not something I want and they know it. 

“Give me the highlights,” I say between sips of tea, “rumors I’ll need to field from professors and students, what you’ve said about my absence, what trouble Snow has caused while unchecked.” 

I give Snow an appraising look from across the room. His sidekick has pulled him back into his seat, and he’s hunched over his lunch shoveling soup into his maw like it’s his last meal. 

His hair has grown in nicely since the term started it appears, but that’s the only part of him that looks normal. He’s too thin– he should be back to clobbering weight by now, but he looks like a pixie could take him in a fight. His skin is wan. The fact that he’s not staring me down tells me that he’s really not at his best. The Snow I know would have bolted across this room to demand to know what I’ve been plotting. He’s always demanding to know what I’ve been plotting, like that’s the only thing I have to fill my time. (He’s not completely wrong, most of my time is consumed with plots concerning him, though not in the capacity he imagines.)

While Dev and Niall were filling me in on what I’ve missed this term, Bunce must have herded Snow out of the dining hall. When I glance over at their table again, they’re both gone.

That act may actually have been a blessing. It hurt to look at him. Usually, he shines as bright as the sun, but seeing him now he looks diminished. Like London beneath a blanket of smog. 

I’m not sure what his class schedule is this term, and how many classes we’ll have together this afternoon, but I’m sure I’ll see him in Greek at least. We’ve always shared that course together, along with the rest of our class. 

~*~*~*~*~

As it turns out, he wasn’t in any of our afternoon classes. Any other year, I would have been relieved to have an afternoon without being suffocated by his ever present glare and the stench of his magic. But today, I’m growing increasingly anxious. I was trapped for six weeks in a coffin, with thoughts of Simon Snow, the Greatest Mage and Chosen One, being the only thing that got me through. But now all I can think about is how he looked and the fact that he’s missing from classes on the same day I return. What is the connection?

~*~*~*~*~

After the last class of the day, I’m walking across the courtyard as fast as I dare without raising suspicion. I need to know if Simon is in our room, or if he’s incapacitated somewhere on the grounds. 

I’m suddenly jerked back with a violent tug at my arm. I spin around, ready to spell the culprit with a **Stand your ground!** Bunce stands before me, hands raised up in a symbol of truce. 

“Basil! I’ve been calling your name all the way across the grounds!” She looks exasperated, “can I talk to you a minute?” 

“Make it quick, Bunce, I have quite a bit of work to catch up on.” I can’t let her of all people know that I’m anxious to check on Snow.

“It’s about Simon,” she begins. This catches my attention, but I manage to retain a neutral expression on my face. “He’s quite ill. I’m going up to your room to check in on him. Can you please just not give him a hard time when you get up there?”

“You are absolutely _not_ going up to my room to check on him right now,” the first chance I have to actually talk to him this year, I am not going to have Bunce there as a witness. “It’s almost time for dinner. I’ll check to see how he’s doing, and if he’s feeling up to it I’ll send him down to the dining hall.” I need to give her a task, something to draw suspicion away from why I’d want to keep her from checking on Simon. “If he hasn’t arrived after a while, you can put a plate together for him and bring it up to him. This is your _only_ allowance to come up to our room. It is not a blanket invitation, Bunce.”

She stares me down for a moment before nodding her head in acceptance. “I’m serious though, Basil. Please just try to not pick a fight with him, he’s barely been able to move since yesterday. I’m worried, you know as well as I do that Simon hardly ever gets sick.”

“Yes, Bunce,” I mock her concern, “I swear on my honor that I will not pick a fight with the Chosen One while he’s sick.” 

She looks me up and down once before seeming satisfied with whatever she sees. “Alright, Basil. I won’t follow you up right now, but if I don’t see Simon in the first fifteen minutes of dinner I’ll be up with food for him.”

Thank Crowley she finally heads for the Cloisters, presumably to drop off her books before dinner. 

*~*~*~*~*

He’s sleeping when I finally get up to our room, blankets wound tight around his body in a tangled mess. He’s visibly shaking, and mumbling something under his breath in his sleep. 

Seeing him like this tears at my heart. The window is closed, and the living blast furnace that is Simon Snow is shaking with fever. His breaths are coming quick and panicked. 

I pull one of my thicker blankets from my trunk and lay it over him. He seems to settle under the added weight, but he’s still breathing irregularly. I reach my hand out, almost touching the curls that are plastered to his face with sweat. I hesitate, my hand hovering just above his hair. I swallow. 

_It’s okay, Basilton. You can let yourself do this. He’s too gone with fever, he won’t know and he needs you right now. Reach out, help him. You’d do anything for him, so do this. Even if you’re not the person he’d want, you’re the only one here right now. He needs to be cared for, so care for him._

I lower my hand, pushing his curls back from his face. At my touch, he tenses. 

“I promise– I’ll tell him,” he’s mumbling more coherently now, thrashing his head back and forth. 

I gently stroke a hand down his cheek, letting his face rest in my palm. He settles his face into my hand, not pulling away, his breathing beginning to relax again. 

“Hush, Simon,” I whisper to him, “It’s just a dream. You’re okay,” I wonder what he’s dreaming about. What he’s promising to tell, who he’s promising to tell it to.

“Said we’d be stars,” he whispers into my hand. 

_Oh, Simon. You’re already a star. You’re the sun and I’m always crashing into you._

There’s a sudden sharp knock on the door. I check my watch, and sure enough it’s been twenty minutes since dinner began. It must be Bunce, here to check on Simon. 

I reluctantly move from Simon’s bedside to answer the door. Sure enough, just as I suspected, Bunce is there with a plate of food. (Including what appears to be an entire stick of butter and half dozen scones)

“Bunce,” I greet her with a sharp nod of my head as I step back to let her enter our room. 

“Has he woken at all since you got here?” She asks, setting the plate of food on his bedside table. 

“Not yet. I didn’t want to wake him, he was shivering and feverish. I got him an extra blanket and he’s seemed to settle down a bit.” I don’t want to come off as too eager to help, but Bunce will never leave if she thinks I won’t keep an eye on him. “He’s been talking in his sleep too.”

She crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed, putting the back of her hand to his forehead. 

She pulls her hand back quickly, clearly distressed by the heat pouring off from him. “Basil, go get a damp flannel for me.”

I cross my arms, “And why would I do that for you, Bunce? I didn’t allow you to come up here to be bossed around.” 

“Basil, if you don’t make yourself useful I’ll be haunting your doorstep every moment until Simon is better. Just get me the flannel.” She pauses a moment, glancing over at me. “Please,” she adds, as a final effort to make me comply. 

I roll my eyes, but head to the en suite to fetch a damp flannel anyway. I should have thought to do this on my own earlier. 

When I return, Bunce is whispering to Simon and rubbing his arm. “Simon, it’s me. I need you to wake up and eat something. Even a little. Please.” 

Her voice is low and laced with concern. It’s obvious that she cares for him as much as she cares for her own family. Maybe even more than her own family, given the way I’ve seen her address her own brother. (I can’t blame her there. He’s one of the Mage’s men, and absolutely useless.) She’s not ashamed of showing how much she cares, even in front of me, who she must recognise as Simon’s greatest enemy after the Humdrum. 

He groans, opening one eye just a crack. Enough to see Penny sitting there with him. 

“Pen, you–” He tries sitting up, but he’s so tangled in the blankets he’s struggling. She stands to begin trying to straighten out his covers. 

“Pen,” he begins again, “you shouldn’t be up here. Baz is going to–”

He cuts himself off when he notices me standing in the middle of the room, arms folded and staring them both down. 

“Baz is going to what, Snow?” I ask, sounding annoyed. I should have handled that better. I wanted this year to be different, even though I knew it couldn’t be. Not when the families had been putting so much pressure on me over the summer to make a final push to destroy the Mage and his heir. This is the year they expected Simon and me to finally come to blows. 

“Don’t tell, Baz. Please,” he’s so weak he doesn’t even have the energy to properly fight me on this. He’s begging me not to turn in his friend for taking care of him. That’s what he thinks of me, petty and vindictive. Willing to take him down through his friends. We’ve always been used against each other, why wouldn’t he assume that I’d use his friend against him too?

“I won’t say a word, Snow,” I say, pointedly looking at Bunce, “as long as she vacates as soon as you’ve eaten so she can take your plate away with her.”

“Yes, fine, Basil,” she concedes to my terms. She turns to Simon, “here, you need to sit up a bit so you can eat. Cook Pritchard sent you up more soup and a couple scones.” 

While Simon works on eating, Bunce busies herself with picking up his side of the room, making the bed with him in it so the blankets are no longer a tangled mess, and refreshes his cup of water by his bed. By the time he’s finished picking at what he can stomach, she is bringing back a freshly dampened flannel from the en suite and is tucking him back into bed with the flannel to his forehead. 

“Get some rest, Simon,” she whispers to him, giving him a quick kiss to the top of his head before collecting his dishes from dinner.

“Basil, can you get the door for me please?” She looks like she should have no problem opening the door on her own, even with the dishes in her hands, but I cross the room to oblige. Anything to get rid of her quicker. 

“Listen,” she hisses at me from the door, her voice low to keep Snow from overhearing. “I hope you can be decent to him for once. He just spent the last 8 weeks looking for _you_ everywhere, every day, exceeding even his average for concern about your plotting.” She eyes me up and down before continuing, “and now you’re back, but he’s too sick to even care because he spent the last 3 nights outside in the freezing rain hoping to find some clue about where you were. So just, please, don’t make him more miserable than he already is.”

“I know you two both like to think that I’m nothing more than a villain,” I can’t believe even Bunce thinks so low of me. I know she at least doesn’t believe all of the speculations about me that he tries to convince everyone of. “But I am capable of being a decent person. I’ve taken care of my younger siblings when they’re sick. I can handle Snow. Now if you wouldn’t mind, please leave.” I turn and shut the door in her face. 

“Thank you,” his voice is quiet and strained, but he knows there isn’t much I don’t hear. “For letting her come up tonight.”

“Think nothing of it, Snow. But don’t get used to it. Special circumstances.” I try to sound bored. As if this isn’t the first conversation we’ve had since last school term, that we’re talking civilly for once, and that I don’t want to breathe him in until I feel like I’ve finally come home. 

“So, where were you?” he whispers. His eyes betray his voice, I can see the concern there. For where I was. 

“That is none of your concern, Snow. I’m here now.” Why am I like this? I just wanted to have a normal, civil conversation with him for once. Let him be sick, and not worry about fighting me. Let myself have this one moment after being trapped for six weeks, and fighting my family for another two to get back here. Back to him. 

“Right. Fine. Keep your secrets. I’m just. Going back to sleep I guess.” He sinks back down into his nest of blankets and pillows, tugging his covers up to his chin. He seems to realize at this moment that the top cover isn’t his. 

“What–” he looks at where I’m sitting on my bed. “Baz, did you cover me with your extra blanket?”

I slowly nod. “I did. You were shivering, and looked pretty miserable in your sleep. I expect it back when you’ve recovered.”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks,” he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before turning over.

“Goodnight, Snow,” I whisper into the silence. 

I hate seeing him sick, but it feels so right to be back. Maybe things can be better this year. Starting with taking care of him. Maybe he’ll see that I’m not out to get him. That the plotting ended years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was influenced by the Carry On Sparks prompt "plot". I hope you enjoyed it!


	3. Dedication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wake to cold hands on my cheek. I’m not sure that I’m actually awake, or if this is still part of the dream. 
> 
> “Wake up, Snow,” his voice is a low whisper. “It was just a dream. Wake up.”
> 
> I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, thrashing my head back and forth against the pillows. I want to evict the voice from my head. The feeling of being so close to some vital truth about myself, just to have it ripped from me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was influenced by the Carry On Sparks prompt "dedication". I'm really excited about this chapter, and hope you love it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> As always, thank you to [Sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire) for being my beta and the first person to read all of my nonsense. 
> 
> And major _SHOUT OUT_ to my **SHP Discord Server** friends for being the greatest fandom friends and support group ever. I'd open a vein for you guys. 💜

**SIMON**

_It’s so cold and dark. The cold seeps into me, surrounds me, cradles me. It feels like icy fingers brushing my cheek, combing through my hair._

_I can’t see anything, but I can feel. I can hear._

_A voice is shouting at me, high and thin._

_‘Hear me,’ it says._

_‘I hear you,’ I tell it. ‘What do you want?’_

_‘I want to tell you about him. About me. About yourself. Where you come from.’_

_I’m confused. What could this voice tell me about myself? Nobody knows anything about me or where I come from._

_‘I have so much I want to tell you. But time is short, and I can’t stay long.’_

_‘So tell me,’ I shout at the voice. ‘Tell me where I come from.’_

_‘Simon,” the voice is smaller now, thinner, a whisper on the wind._

~*~*~*~*

I wake to cold hands on my cheek. I’m not sure that I’m actually awake, or if this is still part of the dream. 

“Wake up, Snow,” his voice is a low whisper. “It was just a dream. Wake up.”

I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, thrashing my head back and forth against the pillows. I want to evict the voice from my head. The feeling of being so close to some vital truth about myself, just to have it ripped from me. 

“You’re okay,” he’s still whispering soothing words, which I should find concerning, but I don’t. 

I sit bolt upright. I feel shaky, startled from my dream. I can feel the cold sweat from my fever clinging to me. My whole body aches, like I had been fighting a pack of polecats instead of sleeping, and my nose won’t stop running.

The dream hadn’t scared me, but I have an overwhelming urge to cry.

“You’re okay,” he says again, pushing my damp curls back from my forehead. 

I’m struggling to catch my breath, to pull myself back together. The dream left me feeling raw. 

I lurch into Baz, burying my face into his shoulder and wrapping my arms around him. This isn’t something we’ve ever done in our eight years together– comfort each other– but I don’t even give myself a moment to think about it. He came to me, after all. 

I can feel him freeze beneath my touch. I expect him to shove me off, call me a stupid coward, or at the very least to pretend none of this happened. But he hasn’t yet. Instead, he slowly puts a hand on my back. Such a light touch I’m not entirely convinced I’m not imagining it. Part of a fever dream. 

“It’s alright, Snow,” he whispers to me. “Let it go. Nothing can touch you in here.”

He has no idea what I dreamed. Why it affected me. 

I don’t understand why he’s being so kind. This is nothing like Baz. 

I force myself to take a deep breath. Another. Then I pull back to look at him, but I can’t manage to look him in the eye. To let him see me like this. 

“I– I’m sorry, Baz,” I say, looking at his chin. His nose. Anywhere but his eyes. “I’m okay. ‘S just a dream. Sorry I bothered you.”

“It isn’t a bother, Snow.” he says quietly. “You’re still sick. It’s okay to fall apart a little.”

**BAZ**

What was I thinking? Letting myself soothe him in his sleep, touching him, whispering words I’ve only ever imagined telling him when he battles his nightmares. 

He sniffles, which I think is from his sudden crying fit until he lets out a string of sneezes that reminds me of the time in fourth year that he fought a Sneezle in Astronomy class. 

He is a barbarian, not even attempting to cover his face. But at least he attempted to turn his head, I suppose. 

I must make a face, because he’s saying “I’m sorry, but you are sitting on my bed. I should be allowed to sneeze in my own bed.”

_Be nice, Basilton. You can do this. You don’t have to attack him at every turn. Make this year different._

Instead of saying anything cruel, I hand him a tissue.

“Do you want to talk about the dream? You’ve been talking in your sleep a lot more than normal.”

I should feel ashamed of this admission. Telling him that I listen to him while he sleeps. But in a room this small, it’s impossible to not wake to the nightmares that have plagued him for years.

“I– I don’t know. They’ve been different. Fever dreams maybe. I heard a voice, a lady. Said she had so much to tell me about ‘him’. And her. And about myself.” He swallows hard. “She said she knows where I come from.” He takes another shaky breath, his head dropping a fraction in defeat, “But that’s impossible.”

“Finding where you came from can’t be impossible, Snow. Have you tried?”

“Well, no. Not really,” he admits. “I asked the Mage once shortly after he brought me here, but he said that where I come from isn’t important, it’s where I’m going. What I can do for the world now that matters.”

“Of course he did,” I mutter under my breath. “Listen, Snow. At the risk of being accused of plotting, I’m going to offer this piece of advice. Learn to use the library.” 

_Fuck._ That’s not what I wanted to say. I try to revise, “I’m sure there’s a heritage spell of some sort, if you really want to find out where you come from. Maybe you can find out who your parents were, when you’re ready.”

“Yeah, okay,” He throws himself back among his pillows again. He looks so pale still. Too pale and gaunt, worn down from this illness and apparently from trying to track me down, if Bunce is to be believed. This is my fault, he wouldn’t be sick like this if I had just been able to come back to school on time. 

Whoever kidnapped me, I’m going to find them and kill them. Twice. Once for me, and another for doing this to Snow.

“Go to sleep, Snow.” I stand from his bed, making my way toward the en suite. “I’ll get you up for breakfast.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles into the pillows, pulling the blankets back up to his chin. He looks so small like this.

**SIMON**

_“Simon. Simon. My rosebud boy,” the voice is still thin, but I know it’s her._

_She sounds impossibly sad._

_“I would never have left you.”_

_“Who are you?” I shout. I can feel the rapid beating of my heart in my ears, my panic rising. She’s back. She’s here. She’s called me by my name. She’s called me hers. Her rosebud boy. I’ve never been called that before. I’ve never been anything special to anyone._

_“I loved you,” she says. She sounds miles away. “I loved you before I met you, and I loved you more the moment I held you.”_

_“Who are you?” I shout again. “Why are you telling me any of this?”_

_“I never would have left you, Simon. My love. My rosebud boy.”_

_“Are you–” I can’t finish the thought. Is she– Could she be?_

_“My son, I love you. He loves you too, he always has.”_

_I’m crying, I can feel the tears track down my cheek. My mother. I have a mother, and she’s come back to tell me._

_“He’s always been dedicated to you. To creating you and keeping you safe.” Her voice is even thinner now. “To doing what he thought was best for you. For our world. He’s always been dedicated to changing our world for the good of all.” She’s barely a whisper now. I know she’s leaving. Leaving me. Again. When she’s only just come back to me._  


~*~*~*~*

I startle awake to a haze of red settling around the room. 

_Fuck. No._

I try to focus on my breathing, think about disappearing. Shrinking in on myself. Being nothing. 

The door to the en suite flies open and I vaguely hear Baz shouting spells, trying to cast my impending magickal implosion away. 

**_“Stay cool! Keep it together!”_ **

He’s striding toward me, casting as he approaches. 

“Get back!” I snarl at him. Even the Mage won’t approach when I’m about to go off. But Baz doesn’t back down. He never does. 

“Deep breaths, Simon. Let it go. Some of it, at least.” He’s not afraid of me. Of being too close to me when I go off. 

I close my eyes, try to focus on defusing myself. 

**_“Hold fast!”_**

When I open my eyes, Baz is standing over me with a look of worry in his eyes. I try not to think about that. He just didn’t want me to blow up half of Watford.

The room smells of smoke. I check to see if my bed is smoldering. 

It’s not.

“What was that about, Snow?” He bites the words out. I knew his goodwill wouldn’t last long. I can’t blame him really, I did almost go off in our room. 

“Just– another dream. Like the one last night.” I turn over in my bed to face the wall. I can’t look at him. See the disgust on his face because I can’t keep myself in check. I let my emotions dictate my life, unlike him. He never lets his emotions get the best of him. He’s always so fucking cool. 

“Snow,” his voice sounds softer than I would have guessed it would be. I don’t turn to face him. I hate being a disappointment. I don’t know why it bothers me to disappoint Baz, but it does. 

“I don’t think they’re really dreams,” I confess to the wall. “I think it’s my mum.” I needed to say it aloud. To feel the shape of the words rolling off my tongue. 

What I’ve experienced doesn’t feel like a dream. It feels like a visiting. Like–

“Baz!” I sit up, perhaps a little too fast. My head is swimming, but I have to tell him. I can’t believe I forgot. 

I grab his wrist and pull him down to sit on the edge of my bed. 

“Baz,” I say again, “your mum. The veil lifted while you were gone.”

He freezes, staring me down when I say it. 

“My mother was _here_ while I was gone, and she talked to _you_?” He figured it out without me even having to say much. He’s so fucking smart, of course he figured it out. I just wish he had been smart enough to actually be here when the veil lifted instead of off planning his rebellion. 

“She couldn’t find you. She waited, looking for you, until she couldn’t stay any longer.” His look is so intense, I feel like he might be trying to set me on fire just with his eyes. “She gave me a message for you. After she accused me of hurting you.”

“Unbelievable,” he sounds incredulous. As if I was the one who kept him from being here. “Well, what’s the message?” 

I reach over to my bedside table and rifle through the drawer. Pulling out the notebook I’ve kept in there, I find the page with the notes I took from the visiting. 

“Find her killer, bring her peace.” I say, reading over my notes. 

“But she killed the vampires that attacked. I was there, I remember.”

“I know,” I say. 

“What else? There must be more.” 

“Her killer walks, but Nicodemus knows. Find Nicodemus, bring her peace.”

“Who’s Nicodemus?”

“Dunno,” I shrug. I don’t have much to go on, I can’t answer his questions. “She didn’t say.”

“Why are you telling me this now?” he asks. 

“I’ve been kind of out of it, if you hadn’t noticed,” I’m getting defensive. I know. But he’s not going to blame me for him not being here to talk to his mum himself. “And I’m telling you now. Because she’s your mum. And I–” _And I think I just talked to my own mum._ But I don’t know how to say that to Baz. Not when he’s processing the message from his mum. 

I look down, focusing on the blankets. I pick at a loose thread there. Anything to keep from looking at him right now. 

“ _Fuck._ Snow, your dream. Do you really think it was your mother coming through?” He’s so fucking smart, I don’t know how he could tell what I was thinking. 

Is mind reading a vampire trait? I don’t think so, but sometimes he can read me like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. It’s downright creepy sometimes. 

“I do,” I’m not sure what else to say. I know it was my mum, I can feel it in my bones. 

“What did she say this time?” He sounds genuinely curious. He probably only cares because a spirit coming through the veil in dreams isn’t a common occurrence. This is an opportunity for him to learn something new, the tosser. He can’t really care. 

“She called me her son, her rosebud boy.” My voice is barely a whisper. It’s hard to repeat what she said. But I need to say it. If I say it, it’ll be more real. “She said that she loved me before I was born, and more after she held me. Said she didn’t want to leave me.”

Baz reaches out and tentatively pats my arm. It’s a reassuring gesture, and coming from him, it’s out of place. 

“She said ‘he loves me too. He always has.’ Baz,” I look at him, starting to feel my eyes prickle and my heart constrict. “What did she mean? Is he– Is my father still alive?”

“I don’t know, Snow. But we’ll find out.”

_We._ He said _we_ will find out.

“Is this a setup?” I blurt out. I can’t imagine a world where Basilton Grimm-Pitch is willingly offering to help me with anything.

“What? No. Of course not.”

“Well, you’ve never so much as offered to help me with homework. You’ve pushed me down the stairs, and set a fucking Chimera on me. Sorry if I don’t entirely trust your sudden willingness to help me.”

“Truce,” he says, putting his right hand out to me. 

“Truce?” 

“Yes, Snow. Truce. I’m sure even with your limited vocabulary you know the word.”

“Don’t be a tosser. I mean, I can’t trust you if you’re still planning to feed me to the merwolves or lock me in a room with a polecat.”

“Fine,” he concedes with an annoyed sigh. “Truce. We’ll swear it with magic. No acts of aggression on either of our parts. I will help you find who your parents are, if your father is still alive, and what happened to your mother. You will help me find this Nicodemus and bring my mother peace.”

“Until we know the truth for both of us,” I add. If we find Nicodemus and his mother’s killer first, I don’t want him to have the opportunity to back out on me and kill me while I’m distracted.

I thrust my hand at him this time, more sure now that we have a magical agreement. 

He rolls his eyes at me, but pulls out his wand.

I take his hand as he casts **_“An Englishman’s word is his bond!”_**

I feel his magic slide up my arm as it settles into me. His magic is hot, like a grease fire. I don’t like to have spells cast on me, but I don’t hate the feeling of his magic. It somehow feels familiar. 

“Alright, Snow. Are you well enough to get up and come down to breakfast?” He stands, smoothing out a few wrinkles from his trousers. “Bunce will have my head if I don’t bring you down in the next few minutes. Or at least head down myself to give her permission to come check on you.”

I smile, knowing he’s right. “I’m feeling good enough to go down. I could definitely eat.” I still feel achy, but my appetite is back at least. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m feeling better, or because I finally feel settled knowing that Baz is here. 

I decide not to think about it right now. I just know that if the Yorkshire pudding is gone by the time I get down there, I will not be happy. 

Baz waits for me to get up and dressed, ushering me through our door. 

We’ve never done this– going anywhere on campus together. We are often headed in the same direction, but we never go _together_. I don’t know how so much has changed over the past couple of days, but I’m not entirely mad about it.

**Author's Note:**

> **Come say hello to me on[Tumblr!](http://foolofabookwyrm.tumblr.com/) I love new friends!**


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